《Gate Of Dawn》


 Chapter 1: Good night, good morning

    Nightfall


    The moonlight quietly illuminated a small alley. There, a shadow of a man trudged along, his body trembling, drained of strength. He leaned against the wall to keep himself from collapsing.


    Blood seeped from his wounds, staining his shirt crimson. He lowered his gaze to examine the gaping wound in his abdomen. At some point, the path he walked had been speckled with red drops on the ground.


    "If only I had time to erase the trail."


    The injury muddled his thoughts. The man shook his head slightly, trying to regain clarity. A faint, wry smile crossed his face as he realized his body wasn¡¯t what it used to be.


    It made sense. Even for a professional assassin, retiring for three long years had dulled his senses. Middle age crept up on him, and if he were just a few years younger, wounds like these wouldn¡¯t have started robbing him of his consciousness.


    But still¡­


    He blinked, clenched his teeth, and pressed hard against the wound to stem the bleeding. He muttered under his breath:


    "Just survive today¡­ I can get to another country, and then¡­ open a caf¨¦..."


    Yes, even though he lacked any talent in brewing or managing, the idea of running a caf¨¦ didn¡¯t seem bad. Once, he saw a family of three running a small caf¨¦ in front of a park¡ªnot bustling with customers but enough to lead a warm, simple life.


    The life was so peaceful that even a notorious hitman like him (though retired as a coffee shop owner) gradually became a dull blade. Effortlessly, he plunged a knife into his opponent''s neck, ending a life.


    Since that day, that caf¨¦ never reopened.


    "Why am I thinking about that?"


    Biting his tongue gently, he quickened his pace. Perhaps now, his fate resembled that of the caf¨¦ owner¡ªanother victim being hunted.


    Why was it like this? Was it because he had assassinated too many people, to the point where everyone wanted him dead?


    Indeed, though he lacked a concrete name, almost everyone who had blood on their hands knew of his existence. A man of extraordinary physical strength, coupled with the expertise to disguise himself and kill without leaving a trace. Skills honed over years of practice.


    "At least, that¡¯s what they say."


    In reality, the man had a name. But it had been so long since he last used it. A very ordinary name, even common in this world¡ªJack.


    He had no family or friends to whom he could reveal his real name.


    If Jack could live his life over again, he certainly wouldn¡¯t become this. If, on that fateful night, he had found an intruder in his caf¨¦¡ªeven if that intruder killed innocent people¡ªJack wouldn¡¯t have intervened. If he had another chance, he would hide in the bedroom and say nothing.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    If he had been that cowardly, maybe the killer would still be alive, and Jack wouldn¡¯t have discovered his own talent for taking lives.


    Jack¡¯s desires were simple: he wanted to live a fulfilled life.


    He had tried countless jobs. Yet, Jack¡¯s lack of social skills left him without friends or a lover. He wasn¡¯t smart enough to graduate from university. He once aspired to be an author, but the story he poured days and nights into writing turned out to be worth no more than an expired meal.


    He worked as a shoeshiner, a street guitarist earning spare change, and even a painter. No matter how often he changed professions, Jack treated every job with utmost sincerity, respecting and dedicating himself fully to it.


    But that didn¡¯t make things better. It only made Jack a persistent failure¡ªunemployed and surviving on scraps earned from construction work.


    At 26, Jack had saved enough after three years of ceaseless effort to open a caf¨¦. Although business was poor, he managed to sustain himself.


    That same year, however, an intruder broke into his caf¨¦ at midnight. The man threatened to kill another customer there and even threatened Jack himself.


    At that moment, Jack didn¡¯t want to die. The caf¨¦, newly opened, had become something he cherished. He didn¡¯t want to lose everything just like that.


    So, he killed the intruder. The man managed to slit the customer¡¯s throat but couldn¡¯t withstand Jack¡¯s fury. That night, Jack found his purpose.


    He seemed to excel at killing.


    Soldiers, who appeared robust, fell so easily to Jack. Securely guarded locations, impenetrable by even a single ant, were no obstacle to him. Despite his frail appearance, Jack¡¯s killing techniques were horrifyingly precise. Whoever he set his sights on was as good as dead.


    It was as if Jack had found his talent¡ªa disease that seeped into his soul, eroding his humanity and dragging him deeper into the abyss.


    If an employer exploited workers, should he kill them?


    If someone sparked a revolution leading to hundreds of thousands of deaths, should he kill them?


    If someone intended to commit murder, should he kill them?


    Jack once declined a contract to assassinate a revolutionary aiming to overthrow a dictator. Foolishly, Jack thought that if the revolution succeeded, the country would become peaceful, and its people would no longer suffer under tyranny. Right?


    No.


    War erupted, painting the nation red with blood. Though the revolution might succeed, countless innocent lives were lost¡ªall because of Jack¡¯s decision. He had believed the uprising would lead to a better life for the people but unknowingly fanned the flames of war.


    "You should have killed him!"


    "You could have stopped this!"


    Night after night, voices echoed in Jack¡¯s mind, tormenting him relentlessly. There was no peace, only self-reproach and curses. Why was it like this? He was just an ordinary man who wanted to open a caf¨¦. He had merely stumbled upon a talent for killing, so why was he forced to make such grave moral choices?


    Kill, or don¡¯t kill?


    Jack never found joy in his life. His talent for murder was like a demon clinging to him, leading him to disregard his morals and make a living off others¡¯ deaths. Alcohol, women, drugs¡ªperhaps they could numb his pain.


    But now¡­ none of that mattered.


    Jack¡¯s body grew cold. Death was near.


    His life had been meaningless. No family, no friends, no significant relationships. No hobbies, no one to help. Apart from enemies, Jack had nothing left.


    If only¡­ If only¡­


    A fleeting thought passed through Jack¡¯s mind as he stepped out of the dark alley. The soft light stung his eyes, and he squinted. Lifting his head, he realized dawn had broken.


    "So warm."


    Jack thought to himself, a small chuckle escaping his lips. His line of work had him awake through many nights and asleep during the day. Yet, he had never truly taken in a sunrise like this.


    The world was so beautiful, and its lone stain was Jack himself.


    Exhaustion enveloped Jack. He glanced at a tall building in the distance. Even from 700 meters away, he recognized the sniper aiming at him. Of course, the target was none other than a half-dead man like himself.


    "That¡¯s fine," Jack thought fleetingly. He smiled, his eyes closing slightly. How comfortable, how liberating it felt not to make any more choices. This sensation, intoxicating and consuming, overtook him.


    The first rays of sunlight appeared. A life was fading away.


    A gunshot rang out. The soul was gone.

 Chapter 2: Welcome to London

    Am I not dead?


    The thought fleetingly crossed Jack¡¯s mind. But he quickly dismissed it as the vague sensation lingered¡ªthe uncertainty of someone just waking up. Could it be that he had died once already?


    The loud, chaotic noise around him, combined with an overwhelming heat, caused Jack¡¯s body to instinctively shiver. The rhythmic sound of steam turbines roared, accompanied by the trembling of the ground. Jack winced, faintly hearing voices shouting¡ªwere they speaking English?


    ¡°Careful!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t go near that blasphemous thing!¡±


    ¡°Shoot it!¡±


    The final command jolted Jack¡¯s instincts. Before he even opened his eyes, his body moved swiftly from where he had been. Perhaps, as an assassin who rarely relied on firearms, Jack had unlocked his body¡¯s full potential. In just an instant, he was gone, evading whatever was flying toward him.


    Then, Jack opened his eyes.


    A barrage of bullets rained down on the spot he had stood moments ago, shattering bricks and scattering debris everywhere. A normal person would have been torn to shreds if caught in that hail of gunfire.


    This had once been a small factory, but after suffering heavy destruction, it had lost its original form. Strangely, Jack could see test tubes rolling across the floor, peculiar chemical instruments scattered about, and a magical circle exactly where he had been standing.


    Alchemy? The thought briefly surfaced in Jack¡¯s mind before he sighed and looked up at the group who had attacked him.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    Jack muttered, his eyes filled with curiosity. One, two, three... three colossal steam-powered machines, resembling armored suits, were aiming their weapons at him. The suits, crafted from gleaming metallic material, shone in pristine shades of gold, white, and silver. On the shoulder plates of each suit, an eye symbol had been etched.


    The clashing of metal echoed with every movement they made, accompanied by bursts of air escaping from the exhaust pipes as the steam engines roared to life. A constant whirring sound filled the space, while thick, black smoke began to shroud the surroundings.


    The three figures fixed hostile glares on Jack. One of them spoke, his voice brimming with anger and laced with heightened vigilance:


    "Keep firing! Don¡¯t stop!"


    Jack glanced at the man and responded with a polite smile. Jack rarely displayed anger¡ªafter all, the words "assassin" and "short-tempered" didn¡¯t typically go together. Instead, he replied tactfully:


    "Sir, I have no idea what just happened, but perhaps we¡¯re misunderstanding something here?"


    Click!


    "We can discuss that after handing you over to the Church!"


    Clearly, these people¡ªdevoted followers of some deity¡ªweren¡¯t exactly friendly. Rather than responding with words, they demonstrated their "goodwill" by aiming an array of guns at Jack. Heaven only knew where those steam-powered suits hid all those weapons, as glimmers of metal began to emerge beneath the arms of the machines.


    The man closest to Jack¡ªthe older one who had been shouting¡ªsuddenly activated a chainsaw on his right arm. The deafening roar of the steam engine filled the air. Jack¡¯s smile froze, and he shook his head slightly.


    It was clear they had no intention of talking.


    With sharp reflexes and quick thinking, Jack¡¯s eyes scanned the battlefield. Strewn across the ground were crimson-clad corpses, seemingly the remains of those who had been conducting some ritual before being slaughtered by the three steam-armored men. Jack¡¯s gaze settled on the body of what appeared to be a high priest. Spotting a knife in the dead man¡¯s hand, Jack immediately sprang into action.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Given his current state, Jack estimated he could resolve the situation in five seconds.


    An assassin can unleash their body¡¯s full potential.


    Boom!


    A whirlwind erupted as Jack moved at a speed far beyond human capability. But the three men showed no signs of panic. Without hesitation, they opened fire in a wide arc ahead of them. It seemed they understood that when they couldn¡¯t keep up with their target¡¯s speed, indiscriminate gunfire was their best option.


    ¡°Stay alert! Don¡¯t underestimate this demon!¡±


    The old man shouted, a testament to their experience¡ªthey adapted quickly even when faced with unforeseen circumstances.


    But it was too late.


    If the men couldn¡¯t keep up, neither could their guns. Bullets might be fast, but when the barrel couldn¡¯t track a target, they were just worthless hunks of metal. A weak shooter rendered even the explosive power of gunpowder and the destructive force of bullets useless.


    Though the room was large, their initial proximity worked in Jack¡¯s favor. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed the knife from the fallen priest and lunged at the nearest man. Jack gripped the knife tightly and slashed at the man¡¯s face¡ªthe only part of his body not protected by metal.


    Clang!


    The metallic sound of impact rang out. While the closest man couldn¡¯t react in time, the old man did. The chainsaw roared ferociously, slicing Jack¡¯s knife into shards.


    This won¡¯t be easy.


    The thought flickered in Jack¡¯s mind. Using his incredible speed, he grasped the broken hilt and hurled it at the unfortunate soldier. Perhaps the man dodged the first strike, but not this time.


    After all, Jack excelled at throwing knives.


    Thud!


    Blood splattered as a scream of agony echoed throughout the room. Even the shattered knife was enough to inflict excruciating pain. The old man furrowed his brows, swinging his chainsaw furiously at Jack:


    ¡°Attack together!¡±


    The two men behind him understood immediately. They replaced their guns with chainsaws and charged at Jack, slashing wildly. Though fanatical, their precision and composure in battle earned Jack¡¯s grudging respect.


    With his superhuman speed, Jack¡¯s pupils dilated as he dodged the first chainsaw by leaning back and leaped over the second. He darted toward the shards of his broken knife. Narrowing his eyes, he launched himself at the old man, his face twisting into a demonic expression as he snarled:


    ¡°Die!¡±


    Jack¡¯s terrifying expression seemed to work. The old man squinted, summoning all his strength to strike at Jack. Naturally, this was exactly what Jack wanted. He smiled as his hand reached toward the chainsaw.


    Clang!


    Sparks flew between Jack¡¯s hand and the spinning blade. The force sent Jack¡¯s body hurtling toward a nearby window. He raised his elbow and smashed through the glass, effortlessly escaping the building.


    The man froze, realizing that Jack¡¯s terrifying charge and savage expression were a ploy to bait him into striking the shard of the knife concealed in Jack¡¯s palm. Furious, the old man let out a deafening roar that made Jack¡¯s ears throb:


    ¡°Pursue the enemy! We must capture him, dead or alive! The League of Biological Advancement needs him!¡±


    The League of Biological Advancement?


    That didn¡¯t sound promising. They¡¯d likely dissect Jack¡¯s body the moment they got their hands on him.


    Jack let out a bitter laugh and bolted far away. Stay and fight three of them? That was out of the question. They were heavily armed, and even if only one of them had such vigilance, it would still be humiliatingly difficult for Jack to win.


    Even if Jack stayed, he had no energy left. Unleashing his body¡¯s full potential couldn¡¯t be sustained for long. He usually couldn¡¯t hold it for more than fifteen seconds, and if he pushed beyond that, he¡¯d likely kill himself before anyone else did.


    Jack exhaled deeply. The mobility of those armored suits wasn¡¯t great, so, for now, he had managed to escape. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced upward, and his pupils widened in surprise.


    A different world?


    That was Jack¡¯s first thought. He could recognize the city¡ªbut was this truly the place he thought it was?


    A massive tower, over fifty meters tall, loomed silently. At its peak, four clock faces displayed the time, with heavy metal hour and minute hands ticking quietly to mark its passage. Jack squinted as his steps slowed.


    But beside it stood towering smokestacks, ceaselessly belching thick, choking black smoke. The air was stifling, the sky dim and veiled by the oppressive haze. It was as though some unseen hand had transformed the classic, serene city in Jack¡¯s memory into a sprawling industrial complex.


    What happened here?


    Jack halted, and his eyes landed on a woman.


    She was tall and slender, dressed in a pale white shirt beneath a gray coat, paired with a skirt of matching color. Her beautiful face, soft brown hair, and striking blue eyes could draw anyone¡¯s gaze. But her sharp eyes and composed demeanor exuded an aura that made Jack wary.


    The aura of someone who seemed to know everything.


    Indeed, as Jack approached, she casually opened a pocket watch hanging at her side. Her voice was soft and unhurried, but it carried an unwavering certainty as if nothing could alter her intentions:


    ¡°You¡¯re earlier than I expected.¡±


    Earlier? Was she waiting for him?


    Jack stopped, his movements calm, showing no signs of hostility. He smiled faintly and spoke in a gentle tone:


    ¡°Excuse me, but do we know each other?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡±


    The woman smiled, choosing not to answer Jack¡¯s question directly. Instead, she offered a cryptic greeting, laced with subtle meaning:


    ¡°However, welcome to London.¡±

 Chapter 3: Become my sword!

    "I don¡¯t remember London being... this stifling."


    Jack clicked his tongue as he spoke, silently hiding a shard of glass he had just picked up. His eyes fixed warily on the beautiful woman before him.


    The woman shook her head lightly. Her calm, unwavering gaze rested on Jack, her face devoid of emotion.


    "Such advanced cognition... Truly impressive for a Homunculus that¡¯s just been created."


    "Homunculus?"


    "That¡¯s right. Though I¡¯m not particularly fond of alchemy, this project of theirs is remarkable - a Homunculus born with self-awareness and the ability to communicate at a high level."


    She snapped the lid of her pocket watch shut, turning her gaze toward Jack. He gave an awkward smile, almost boyish, his cheeks slightly flushed at being scrutinized by such an alluring woman.


    "Ah¡­ I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about¡­"


    "I know, or perhaps you¡¯re pretending."


    The woman suddenly smiled, and for the first time, Jack saw her expression shift. She slowly clenched her delicate hand into a fist, extending her slender index finger as though aiming a gun at Jack. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and a chill ran down Jack¡¯s spine from her piercing presence.


    "This will be quicker, won¡¯t it?"


    Her finger twitched, as if pulling an invisible trigger.


    Bang!


    The sound of a gunshot echoed, and a bullet tore through Jack¡¯s chest. The sudden, searing pain made him wince and stumble backward from the force of the shot.


    There was a sniper nearby! They had fired under the woman¡¯s command.


    As Jack had once observed, a gun in the hands of an incompetent person was merely scrap metal. But in the hands of a master sniper, it was a death sentence for anyone in their crosshairs.


    Blood flowed from Jack¡¯s wound, staining his clothes. His face, previously feigning awkwardness, returned to a neutral expression¡ªafter all, most of Jack¡¯s emotions were merely performances for others.


    He looked at the woman, blinking calmly, and said in an even tone:


    "I could take you hostage."


    "True. With your burst speed, a single sniper wouldn¡¯t be enough to stop you."


    The woman¡¯s composure was unshaken. As if to emphasize her point, Jack¡¯s body suddenly surged forward with incredible speed, ignoring his injury. His hand shot toward the woman¡¯s neck, intending to grab her as a human shield.


    However¡­ seeing the woman¡¯s calm expression and her finger pointing at him once more, Jack hesitated. Something clicked in his mind, and he let out a bitter chuckle.


    "Really?"


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Three synchronized gunshots rang out. Bullets tore through Jack¡¯s body effortlessly, the shredding pain making him stagger before collapsing in front of the woman. Blood dripped steadily to the ground.


    Indeed, Jack was once the most terrifying assassin in the world. But now, he found himself facing a sniper. Of course, knives and guns have always been an unfair match, no matter how skilled the wielder of the knife may be¡ªeven if he were a master assassin.


    Once more, the woman spoke with detached serenity:


    "Fortunately, I have an entire team of snipers at my back."


    "Cough!"


    Jack coughed violently, clutching his chest and grinding his teeth against the pain. His eyes darted around in disbelief at the absurdity of his situation.


    "Who are you? Some kind of crime lord?"


    No, not even a crime lord could afford to keep an entire sniper squad on standby.


    The woman let out a faint laugh, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and delicately wiping a spot of blood from her finger. She glanced at the narrow alley behind Jack and softly asked:


    "Then what are you?"


    "Me?"


    Jack raised his head to meet her gaze, then looked down at the ground. Blood from his wound dripped steadily, but as it hit the surface, the deep red seemed to fade, turning into a silvery sheen.


    This wasn¡¯t blood.


    It was mercury.


    Jack stared in disbelief. His hand dug into his wound despite the pain, pulling out more of the crimson liquid. He held it up, watching as the red drained away, leaving behind shimmering beads of mercury.


    Jack raised his hand, watching in shock as the red faded quickly, leaving behind only droplets of mercury. His wide eyes stared at his palm, and he hastily pressed the mercury back into his body. Miraculously, the silvery liquid flowed back into his wound, slowly sealing it as if by magic.


    What is this?


    Confused, Jack touched his body, his wound, and then his face. Everything felt real. Strange, wasn¡¯t it? His body was still here, wasn¡¯t it? He was still himself¡­


    Right?


    His mind felt like it was about to explode. Jack¡¯s face stiffened, and he slowly shook his head. His gaze shifted to the woman, his voice hollow and lifeless:


    ¡°What have you done to me?¡±


    ¡°Them?¡± She replied nonchalantly, lightly tapping her finger against her pocket watch. Her indifferent eyes glanced down at Jack as she continued:


    ¡°The ones who created you, or called you here... They¡¯re all dead now.¡±


    ¡°The Church doesn¡¯t tolerate those who dare blaspheme against God. Among them, you¡¯re probably the one they most desire to destroy.¡±


    Jack tried to respond, but the woman merely smiled, her piercing blue eyes fixing on him.


    ¡°But I don¡¯t believe in gods or deities. There are only two things in this world that fascinate me.¡±


    ¡°Science and profit.¡±


    "Of course, a Homunculus like you, a being that transcends mere life itself, is the most intriguing to me."


    The voice spoke calmly, without urgency, and the corners of the girl''s mouth slowly curved into a faint smile. Yet, her face remained as cold as ice. She looked down at Jack, her eyes betraying a curious amusement:


    "Unfortunately, as fascinating as you are, you offer no value to me."


    "So then you don''t need to stop me like this." Jack''s mouth twitched slightly. How could she have the time to block his path and then tell him that none of this matters to her?


    The woman paused briefly before breaking into a soft laugh, her eyes drifting into the distance. Her tone held a curious amusement:


    "Look, they¡¯re coming."


    Boom!


    The ground cracked beneath them, followed by the steady hum of steam engines. Thick smoke billowed endlessly as the steam-powered war machines advanced toward them. The soldiers controlling the machines had arrived, and there were more of them than before.


    Jack''s eyes widened at the sight of the machines. He hadn¡¯t realized his worth was so high that an entire army had been sent just to kill him.


    However, the woman stepped closer to Jack, calmly gazing at the older man and offering a gentle smile:This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "That¡¯s enough now."


    "Why is it you again, Miss Edison?"


    His face twisted with irritation as he gazed at the woman. His teeth clenched slightly, and his piercing eyes seemed to bore into her as if trying to penetrate her very being. It was clear that this woman had obstructed their efforts more than once. Yet somehow, he responded with a tone of respect, laced with discomfort:


    "I don¡¯t recall blasphemy being connected to the League of Biological Advancement. What reason do you have to interfere with our purge?"


    "Purging?" The woman chuckled softly, her gaze as composed as ever. "How much did the Biology Division offer for this one?"


    "What are you talking about?" His eyes narrowed, and the atmosphere grew tense. The soldiers glanced uneasily at the old man, some hesitating, some confused, while a few seemed to grasp the implication.


    It appeared the Church wasn¡¯t as righteous as it claimed to be.


    The woman didn¡¯t provide further explanation, only offering a serene smile:


    "Since Darwin stepped down as the head of the Biology Division, I see no reason to hand over such a valuable asset to them. So¡­"


    "I¡¯m offering three times the price."


    "You¡ª you know I can¡¯t represent the Pope¡ª" His expression quickly shifted, his composure breaking. He was about to say more, but the woman merely chuckled. Despite standing unarmed before steam-powered war machines, she remained calm and confident:


    "I don¡¯t care what the Pope thinks. But if he knew you turned down such a valuable offer¡­" The woman¡¯s eyes swept over the group, a sly smile playing at her lips.


    Suddenly, the old man locked eyes with her, his jaw clenched, and asked quietly:


    "Why do you have to go to such lengths?"


    The atmosphere was tense and heavy as the woman stared at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her gaze was calm, yet it radiated an unsettling power. The old man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his frustration mounting with every second. Finally, he couldn¡¯t hold back any longer and spoke with a voice dripping with irritation:


    "Why do you have to go to such lengths?"


    The woman¡¯s smile widened slightly, her voice smooth and calculated:


    "Because I¡¯m a merchant, and a very cutthroat one at that."


    It was as simple as that.


    Homunculus were artificial beings created through alchemy, often considered abominable due to the forbidden rituals required to bring them into existence. However, their unique ability to regenerate made them invaluable to the Biology Division. With Charles Robert Darwin¡¯s fall from grace, the Division had lost its influence, and its prospects were bleak. A Homunculus, with its potential for independence, became the key to their survival¡ªand that was precisely what Edison sought to prevent.


    The old man was silent as the steady hum of steam engines slowly faded into the background. The room¡¯s oppressive atmosphere seemed to heighten, revealing the greed and dread buried deep within the hearts of everyone present. No one wanted to cross paths with the woman standing before them¡ªa ruthless merchant disguised as an innovator.


    Like a venomous snake, ready to strike at any moment.


    Edison¡¯s reputation was notorious. From manipulating patents to interfering with the Church¡¯s affairs, her methods were underhanded and dangerous. She used every trick in the book¡ªspreading rumors, pressuring opponents, and even eliminating threats by any means necessary. She thrived in the corrupt city of London, where the line between right and wrong blurred in a haze of ambition and deceit.


    The old man finally spoke, his voice weary but resolute:


    ¡°Thomas Alva Edison, what is your true purpose?¡±


    But Edison simply tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable, as if the question barely touched her. Her voice remained calm, yet chilling:


    "Don¡¯t make me lose patience, Father. The Church can¡¯t ignore an offer three times the original."


    She smirked, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade:


    "Let the Biology Division continue to wither away. Since Darwin disappeared, they¡¯ve lost any chance of revival."


    The old man¡¯s expression darkened, his hands tightening into fists beneath his cloak. His soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, uncertain of what to do. In the end, he gave a reluctant nod, surrendering to the inevitability of Edison¡¯s power.


    Before leaving, he uttered a final, quiet word:


    ¡°The Pope will want a meeting with you, Madam Edison.¡±


    Without a further word, the man and his retinue dispersed, leaving Edison alone in the room. Her gaze returned to Jack, who stood there bloodied but defiant. A cruel smile formed on her lips as she watched him.


    "Perhaps I¡¯ve just stopped a catastrophe." she murmured, her voice calm and composed.


    Jack shook his head slightly, his voice weary:


    "Thank you for saving my life."


    "Saving your life?" Edison raised an eyebrow, her tone indifferent. "Don¡¯t speak nonsense."


    Jack frowned, clearly growing frustrated, but continued:


    "I know how to kill people."


    "Everyone can kill, Jack." Edison gently shook her head and continued, her tone composed yet firm: "Protecting someone is the real challenge."


    "I¡¯m very skilled at killing people."


    Jack sighed bitterly, repeating the words almost robotically. Sadly, it was the only thing he truly knew. Seeing Edison still unmoved, he exhaled deeply and added:


    "In a one-meter radius, no one can stop me."


    "That doesn¡¯t matter."


    Edison furrowed her brow slightly, the first hint of genuine emotion crossing her otherwise composed expression. Her gaze locked onto Jack, an intense focus that made the words he intended to say dissolve into nothingness. It wasn¡¯t fear, nor was it the weight of her pressure¡ªit was something deeper, a sense of calm confidence that radiated from her.


    This woman knew exactly what she was doing, and every action, every word she spoke held an almost unnerving authority.


    ¡°Jack, do you know why I always try to undermine and attack Nikola Tesla¡¯s alternating current?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know who that is-¡±


    ¡°Because destroying something is always easier than protecting it.¡± Edison¡¯s voice was steady, her gaze unyielding. The hum of the steam engines filled the room, but her words cut through it clearly:


    ¡°I choose to buy the rights to inventions because it¡¯s easier than creating them.¡±


    Jack fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He had once believed that his ability to kill was his talent, his strength. Yet his life had been a series of failures. Even in choosing who to kill or not to kill, he had faltered. What else did he excel at, if not killing?


    Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he spoke quickly:


    ¡°I can disguise myself, blend in, even abduct someone. And if I run, no one can catch me-¡±


    ¡°Abduct? Escape?¡±


    Edison paused, her eyes piercing into Jack as if considering something. Eventually, she smiled softly:


    ¡°Then prove it.¡±


    Jack stared at Edison, his lips twitching slightly.


    "Really?"


    "Indeed." Edison replied calmly, her eyes holding a faint glimmer of amusement. "Kidnap me and escape from here, and if you succeed, I¡¯ll arrange a job for you." Her gaze remained steady, her tone as composed as ever.


    "But..." she added, a subtle warning behind her words: "Be aware, my snipers never miss."


    Jack studied Edison for a moment, then sighed and nodded.


    "Alright then."


    Edison relaxed, her movements fluid as she signaled her snipers hidden nearby. She stepped closer to Jack, the distance between them narrowing. For the first time, Jack had a clear view of her face¡ªremarkably beautiful.


    Jack¡¯s eyes flickered, and he tightened his grip. His feet moved forward.


    Some say the human brain sets a threshold for physical danger, ensuring the body remains safe. Yet, in moments of extreme peril, people sometimes unlock their full potential. Jack was no exception.


    The world seemed to slow down around him.


    Jack inhaled deeply, his body propelled forward like a cannonball towards Edison. His hand grabbed her collar tightly, pulling her with him. With his other hand on her back, he forcefully pushed forward.


    Crash!


    The ground shattered beneath Jack¡¯s surge of strength. Gunfire erupted, but Jack relied on the traces of mercury from his earlier exposure to predict the positions of the snipers.


    A bullet pierced his thigh, but the pain barely registered. His grip on Edison tightened as he disappeared into the chaotic scene, moving at an astonishing speed. Jack bolted toward the nearest building, shattering a window with his body before collapsing inside.


    Exhausted and in pain, Jack dropped Edison gently onto the floor. His breathing was ragged, each breath a struggle.


    "Enough proof?" he gasped out.


    Edison glanced at him, her expression unreadable. Slowly, she rose to her feet. With a composed flick of her hair, she adjusted herself and exited the building, appearing calm and in control.


    As she walked, she clapped her hands softly, signaling that everything had gone according to plan.


    Turning back to Jack, she smiled, her voice calm but commanding.


    "Do you know where the true value of a sword lies, Jack?"


    "To kill people?" Jack replied breathlessly, and she nodded.


    "Yes." she said, her tone unwavering. "But not just that."


    Edison turned her gaze skyward, her smile widening.


    "A sword can cut through any barrier meant to stop its master."


    "Attack or defend-only those who understand their true purpose can shine in this world!" she continued.


    "Jack, you claimed you could kill within a meter, no matter the odds!"


    Her voice rose, carrying over the rising smoke and chaos. Her laughter was like a bell, resounding through the battlefield.


    "But just now!"


    "Jack, even with dozens of snipers closing in, you managed to save someone!"


    Edison¡¯s eyes gleamed with triumph, her expression a mix of amusement and triumph. She raised her hand high, pointing toward the sky obscured by the thick smog-a symbol of her unyielding dominance over the chaos below.


    London was shrouded in a sea of smoke, as if a black fog had settled over the city, making even the smallest ray of sunlight impossible to pierce through.


    The smoke pouring from the chimneys wasn¡¯t just coal¡ªit was the bones and blood of countless people, a silent testament to their suffering and labor.


    "You are a sword! A very fine sword, Jack!"


    "This will be the most fascinating deal I''ve ever seen," Edison said with a grin, turning to face Jack. Her eyes gleamed, as if she held the key to a priceless treasure.


    "Become my sword!"


    Her voice was firm, her words carrying a promise of power and purpose. "On this path, you¡¯ll take many lives, perhaps soak the streets in blood. But at the end¡­" Her smile deepened, and her tone became imbued with a sense of destiny.


    "You¡¯ll have the chance to bring light to them."


    Edison¡¯s hand extended toward Jack, her expression filled with pride and conviction. Her confidence wasn¡¯t just that of a shrewd businesswoman or a clever inventor; it was the kind of ambition that could shape the future.


    "Help me illuminate this world!" she declared.


    Jack stared at her hand, his brow furrowed in confusion. For the first time, someone wasn¡¯t asking him to take a life, but rather to stand for something more meaningful.


    Jack had always struggled with the purpose of his existence¡ªwhat did it mean to live, beyond simply existing or taking lives?


    But now, a woman stood before him, offering a different path: to be a sword, not just for destruction, but for protection and change.


    He reached out hesitantly, gripping her hand firmly¡ªa gesture laden with unspoken answers and uncharted purpose.


    "From now on, it''s not just about killing. You have another duty..." Edison said softly, her smile gentle but resolute.


    "Protect someone, Jack!"


    Divine Calendar Year 1781 marked a grim turning point for the Empire, a once great nation formed from the union of many lands¡ªnow a shattered remnant struggling against the onslaught of Aberrations. For centuries, humanity had fought to reclaim its place, yet the world plunged deeper into darkness.


    With each passing day, the invasion of creatures from other realms intensified. Alongside these threats, humanity itself began to unravel¡ªcrime rates surged over 350% compared to a century prior, as chaos consumed the streets.


    Yet, even in the face of such devastation, there was a flicker of hope. For amidst the shadows, humanity still had the power to rise¡ªif it could find the strength to unite once more.


    At this pivotal moment, small stones began to shift, guided by unseen forces, shaping destinies yet to be fully revealed.